Chapter 7

Wild Emotions

"It is easy to fly into a passion--anybody can do that--but to be angry with the right person and at the right time and with the right object and in the right way--that is not easy, and it is not everyone who can do it." –Aristotle

Hermione's spoon clanged against the bottom of her bowl. "Thanks so much, Mrs. Weasley. It was excellent."

"It's no trouble, dear," she said, picking up the now empty bowl. "You come whenever you like; it's a pleasure having you over."

Hermione smiled after Mrs. Weasley, who walked back into the kitchen. She turned back to the table, where Harry and Ron sat. Harry was already done eating, but Ron was only two thirds of the way done his fourth stack of pancakes. "Honestly Ron; you would think you've never eaten before in your life."

Without looking up from his plate, Ron replied: "I can't think on an empty stomach."

"I'm surprised you ever think at all," she muttered, leaning back in her chair and rolling her eyes.

Harry grinned. "Did you find anything last night?" he asked Hermione.

"No; nothing I didn't already know. I was still wondering why Malfoy acted the way he did. He was always threatening us when we were at Hogwarts. And now, we show up on his doorstep and he does nothing."

"Maybe he had something better to do."

"Maybe..."

"Well, I'm done," Ron announced, standing as he drained his cup of juice. "Let's go."

"Oh, are you three leaving already?" Mr. Weasley appeared from the stairwell. He grabbed a pear from the bowl of fruit on the table. "I thought you would stay a little while longer."

"Harry and Ron are helping me study. I start my training for becoming a Healer next week," Hermione said without missing a beat.

"Oh, well, have fun you guys." He smiled and walked into the kitchen.

"When did you learn to lie so blatantly?" Ron asked, somewhat surprised.

"How long have I known you two? I've lied to plenty of adults. I've even lied to you." She smiled. "Besides, it's not a complete lie. We are going to be studying...sort of."

"When did you lie to me?"

"Let's go," Harry said. "We can start early; maybe we won't be at it for very long."

"Seriously; when did you lie to me?"

-

Unfortunately, Harry was wrong. They spent the entire morning looking all sorts of jinxes, spells and charms, then working on how to deflect them affectively. By the time they took a break to get some lunch, Harry was already sick of books. So was Ron, according to the look on his face whenever Hermione would force him to open another one, to look up a counter curse or whatnot.

Hermione, on the other hand, was in her research mode. "You two go on and have some lunch; I'm going to stay here and keep looking."

"Hermione," Harry said, "you are eating. You had almost nothing for breakfast."

"I'll get some thing brought up."

"The books will still be here when we get back." He took the book from her hand and tried to pull her off of the bed.

She glared at him and stood, rather reluctantly.

Ron opened the door, and Harry dragged her out of the room.

-

"See how nice it is to get into the real world for awhile?" Harry asked Hermione. The three of them were sitting in a quaint little muggle diner, on the other side of town. Harry and Hermione were eating the special of the day. And as usual, Ron ordered enough food to feed an entire House.

"I suppose so. The real world is vastly overrated, but I must admit that this is quite nice," she replied, taking a sip of her iced tea.

"Mmm; and the food is excellent," Ron added. He had already plowed through half of his meal. "Not to mention peaceful."

"Yes, that is one thing that I love about muggle places," Harry replied; "no one stares. You'd think that after eighteen years, they would get tired of looking at me. But no. I can't imagine that I am that good looking."

"Of course you are," Hermione said. Harry grinned at her as a reply.

"So, what will we do about Kreacher?" Ron asked loudly.

"Shh!" Hermione hissed. "We could be overheard."

Ron swallowed his piece of bacon. "Come on. Who here could possibly know about him? This is a muggle restaurant."

Harry shook his head. "If Moody could here you right now. What makes you think everyone in here is a muggle; we're not."

Ron's eye's widened, and he offered them a sheepish grin. "Oh yeah."

"See? This is why I wanted to stay at the room and eat in like last time. We can at least talk openly there." Hermione sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

"Well, next time then," Ron retorted.

She scowled. "You are so stubborn."

"Of course he is," Harry said. "What fun would it be if he weren't obstinate, or stupid?"

"Hey! I resent that."

"Yes, well... deal with it. Now hurry up and finish eating so we can go back and keep looking." Harry put his napkin on his plate and sighed. He looked over at Hermione, who was watching Ron eat, chin resting on her hand and confused interest playing on her delicate face. She felt his eyes and turned to him, smiling.

"How does he do that?"

"Test study results are inconclusive." He winked at her, widening her smile so that it reached her eyes. His heart warmed at the sight; she had looked so downcast the past couple of days.

"Okay, I'm done," Ron announced, draining his glass of orange juice.

"Do you chew your food before you swallow it, or do you just inhale it?" Harry asked.

"Both."

"Come on," Hermione said, rising and tossing some muggle money on the table. "Let's go back to my room and keep looking. We're doing quite well."

"Then let's be off."

-

Draco woke up late that morning. The sun was up and the manor was empty. He rose from his bed and looked at his room. It was in shambles from the night before's rant. Shrugging, he stepped over the debris and shut the door. After taking a long, scalding shower, he pulled on a clean set of clothes and went into the kitchen. He ate a couple pieces of dry toast, listening to the silence all around him.

After tossing his plate in the sink, he went back to his room to clean up his mess. With a wave of his wand, the desk righted itself and the parchment and supplies flew on top of it, and the chair de-shattered itself and settled itself at the desk.

He walked through the empty hallway aimlessly, thinking about the night before. How am I going to fix this? He thought to himself. I'm sure that the Dark Lord already knows. I guess that now it's just a matter of time before he acts. Draco's stomach knotted and he grimaced.

"Well. I might as well see if Crabbe and Goyle managed to dispose of Kreacher correctly." His heart beat rapidly as his voice pierced the cold silence. Ignoring the thumping beneath his chest, he Disapparated.

He reappeared a moment later in Goyle's living room. He was on the couch, asleep. Crabbe was in an armchair, head propped on his arm, snoring. Draco picked up a vase of flowers off the pedestal next to him, and threw it at the wall above the sofa Goyle was sleeping on. Both Crabbe and Goyle woke with a start.

Draco smirked. "Morning sunshines." He took out his wand and repaired the vase. It flew back into his hand, and he placed it on its pedestal.

Crabbe yawned widely. "What are you doing here, Draco?"

"To check up on you two buffoons. Did you burn Kreacher's body yet?

Goyle cast a nervous glance at Crabbe. "Of course we did. Last night."

"And then threw the ashes into the deeper part of the woods," Crabbe added.

Draco looked at them closely, and they stared blankly back. Too angry and tired to argue the matter with the two of them, he was forced to take their word for it. Frustrated, he sat down in an armchair opposite of Crabbe and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. Despite the fact that they were his friends, Crabbe and Goyle honestly had to be the most dimwitted, unintelligent wizards on the face of the earth, and some how Draco had gotten stuck with them. He buried his face into his hands – not in anger or sadness this time – deeply immersed in thought. It may not have been his fault that Kreacher was dead, but none the less, he had to fix it. After a few minuets, he lifted his head and tousled his moon-pale hair distractedly.

"What we have to do," Draco began slowly, "is lay low for awhile. No going out to pubs for drinks, or wandering around aimlessly in broad daylight. Stay at home the most you can. I'm assuming that the Dark lord hasn't caught wind of Kreacher's death yet, but I'm sure that he will in the next day or two, at most. So, in the mean time, you'd better work up the courage to face him, and think up a damn good excuse for your action."

He looked up at them and saw their wide eyed expressions. "That's the best I can do for you two. I'll be surprised if I'm not dragged in along with you. I can't just right this myself. I'm not a bloody miracle worker. I'm sorry," and for perhaps the first time in his life, he meant it.

Crabbe and Goyle sat still and numb in the after shock of Draco's small, sad speech. After a few minuets of shocked silence, Draco began to get irritated. "I'd appreciate some sort of response from either of you... blink if you understand what I'm saying."

"Thanks, Draco," Goyle said softly. His gaze shifted from Draco's face to above his shoulder, and his eyes sank into an inane gaze. Crabbe closed his eyes and sat back in his chair.

The three sat in silence. All different kinds of stories and excuses ran through Draco's head. I can say that it was an accident, Draco thought. But he will be able to see through that. Whatever I say, I should be in the clear as long as the Dark Lord doesn't say anything to my father. If he does, I'm screwed.

Suddenly Draco sat up, ramrod straight. "My father," he whispered. He turned to the clock behind him. It read one o'clock. He had left at noon. "Damn!" He shot up from his chair.

"What is it?" Crabbe asked.

"I have no idea whether or not my father is home. And I'm supposed to be under house arrest or whatever. I've got to go. I'll talk to you two later." He blinked out, leaving Crabbe and Goyle staring at air.

Draco Reapparated in his room as smoothly as possible, facing the door. He opened it quietly, and after checking to make sure the hall way was clear, let out a small sigh of relief. He turned around, and saw a fist coming straight at his face. It connected with his jaw, sending him flying into the hallway. He landed hard on the floor.

Lucius stepped out of Draco's room and stood over him, seething anger and eyes seemingly glowing with fury. "I am fed up with your 'do what I want, mightier than thou' attitude." His voice strong and steady, and it had the same force as a roar.

"Where do you think I get it from?" Draco spat back with pain in his voice. He pushed himself up with one arm and rubbed his sore jaw, glaring at this father.

Snarling, Lucius grabbed his son by the front of his shirt and pulled him roughly up. "Where the hell," he slammed Draco hard against the wall, "do you get off saying a thing like that?"

Bright spots danced in front of Draco's eyes as a throbbing pain washed through his skull. "Where do you get off thinking you are so much better than me? You are lower than the scum I scrape off the bottom of my shoe."

With a sneer, Lucius pressed his forearm into Draco's throat, cutting off some of the air in his windpipe, causing him to choke and wheeze. "I do not expect you to put me on a pedestal, but you will treat me with the respect I deserve as you father."

Lucius was much stronger than he let on. On Draco struggled to loosen the hold on his throat, he managed to get a gulp of air. On the exhale, he spat in his father's face. "I have more respect for Dumbledore and Potter than I do for you," he gasped.

Lucius threw him onto the floor, rage seeming to seep out of his pores. Draco coughed harshly, attempting to draw a steady breath, glaring at his father with pure and utter contempt.

"I will teach you to hold me in some respect, no matter what it takes." He pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at Draco. "Cru-"

"Lucius!"

He stopped mid sentence and turned around, wand still pointing at Draco. Narcissa was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. "My dear Lucius," she said softly, her voice dripping with honey and wickedness. "What will that achieve?" She spoke with sickening innocence, which was so undoubtedly fake. "I would hate to explain to the Dark Lord why one of his most faithful servants cursed another into some sort of oblivion. It would be ever so awkward. She walked over to Lucius and gazed at him with long lashes and seemingly hypnotizing dark gray – almost black – eyes. Even as Lucius looked at her, he seemed to melt. She put her hand on his wand. "Now, let's stop this foolish little brawl, shall we?" Still, staring intently at his wife, he slowly lowered his arm.

Draco quickly scrambled to his feet and glared at his father. "Afraid of the rumors that would ensue my insanity, father?" he spat angrily. "'Lucius Malfoy's only son cursed to the same fate as the Longbottom's'; how would you ever get over the heartache?"

Draco's voice snapped Lucius out of his trance. He whirled around, raising his wand. Light flashed and Draco snapped his head to the side as if receiving a blow. A deep gash appeared on his face, running from the corner of one eye down almost to the corner of his mouth.

Narcissa heaved a sigh filled with mock exasperation. "What am I going to do with you?" She laughed and threw her hands up. Her laugh was like the tinkling of brass bells and sent a chill up Draco's spine.

"Perhaps now you will a scar, just like your much revered Harry Potter," Lucius scoffed.

Draco could feel warm blood trickling down his cheek. "I can only hope. Then maybe Voldemort will kill the two of you and save me the trouble."

His mother reeled around, eyes ablaze. "Perhaps you were right," she said to Lucius. Before Draco could blink, she whipped out her wand. "Crucio," she said, eyes glinting malevolently, a smile already playing on her lips.

Complete and unreserved pain instantly consumed Draco's entire body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head in agony and he clutched ay the wall, desperately trying to support himself.

"How dare you speak the Dark Lord's name aloud!" she barked, but with sick delight dancing in her eyes. "You should consider yourself lucky to even be allowed to serve under him!"

A fresh wave of agony washed through Draco. He gasped in pain and braced himself against the wall to stay upright. Sweat poured from his forehead, burning his eyes and the gash on his cheek. His knees buckled and he dug his fingers into the wall in vain, panting harshly.

Narcissa laughed viciously and a wicked look lit up her face. "Does it hurt much, my little one? Why do you not cry out; do you think you can control it?" When he didn't respond, all joviality – evil or otherwise – left her eyes. "Show your parents some respect. Come, get on your knees and beg for our forgiveness and for relief."

Another wave of torture wiped through Draco; so much pain that it made him nauseous. Still pressed against the wall, he desperately looked to his father for help. Lucius stood to the side, intently staring at his wife with sick admiration and a faint smile on his lips.

Draco gritted his teeth against the thralls of pain wreaking havoc on his body. His knees buckled and gave out. He sank to the floor in defeat and caught himself with his arms to keep from crashing face first on the floor. All at once the pain subsided. On all fours on the floor, weakly holding himself up with exhausted muscles, Draco started to dry heave as his body still stayed in shock from the torture. He slumped against the wall, breathing raggedly, on the edge of consciousness.

Narcissa smoothly put her wand away and completely changed her manner. "Come Lucius, I fancy a walk. And I do believe that dear Draco needs a bit of rest." She linked arms with her husband and walked past Draco down the hall. "Goodbye, my little one," she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the den.

Draco sagged against the wall. Suddenly, facing Voldemort doesn't seem so bad, thought, and everything went black.

-

"If I never see another book in my entire life, it will be all too soon."

Once again, Ron, Harry and Hermione were back at the Leaky Cauldron, lunch long since over, looking through yet another stack of books. Ron had been complaining on and off the entire afternoon. It was getting late, and his complaints irritatingly more frequent.

"Ron, if you continue to gripe, I will put a Silencing Charm on you," Hermione said without looking up from her own book.

"I can't help it."

"I bet you can," she grumbled loudly. Harry smiled into his parchment.

""I can't even read the words anymore. They just blur together." He shut the book and closed his eyes. "My head is throbbing," he whined.

"I won't hesitate, Ron; I won't."

Harry rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Ron and Hermione's bickering. Although; it didn't keep the quarreling from being thoroughly annoying. He looked over at Ron, who was sitting on the window bench, resting his head on the wall, glaring at Hermione. Hermione, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to the fact that Ron was shooting deadly glares in her direction. Hunched over in her chair, Harry subconsciously noted how delicately her coffee brown hair dropped over her shoulders, and how bright her eyes were as the skimmed over the musty pages. For the second time that day, Hermione felt Harry's eyes on her and looked up at him. She smiled, biting her lip, then winked at him and returned to her reading. The faintest blush colored her cheeks.

A loud groan from Ron broke Harry's gaze. He'd opened the book again but wasn't reading it. "There has got to be an easier way to go about this," he moaned.

"Yes; you could have not been such a git toward Kreacher," Hermione said to no one in particular, but not bothering to lower her voice.

"Do not start in with that again. Spew was an awful idea."

"S.P.E.W. is a great idea!" She stood up and strode to Ron angrily. "And if you hadn't been so terrible to him, he wouldn't have gone to the Malfoy's!"

"He insulted us all Hermione; especially you!"

"He didn't know what he was saying."

"That's a load of shite and you know it. You are so blind sometimes."

"Ron, that is ridiculous. He was just lonely; right Harry?"

"Harry thinks that the nutter should have his head nailed to the wall!"

"Hey," Harry cut in. "Let's not tell Harry what he thinks, shall we?"

They ignored Harry, staring at each other with rage. "Why do you have to be right all the time!" Hermione screamed, her eyes filling with tears of anger. "I am so fed up with you!"

"And I am sick and tired of you being an insufferable know it all!" Ron yelled back. He threw the book in his hand on the floor. "You think you are so clever, but you are only a stupid, dirty-blooded girl!"

An awful silence filled the room, and even Ron looked surprised at the words that had come out of his mouth. Harry looked, wide eyed, from Ron to Hermione, who was trembling with rage; Harry could see it smoldering in her eyes. The book she held slipped from her hand and landed on the floor with a soft thump.

"Hermione..." Ron began softly.

"Is that what you really think of me Ron?" Her voice was deadly quiet, and it shook as badly as her body.

"No, no, no; of course not..." He moved toward her, seeking, hopefully, forgiveness and understanding of his foolish words.

He never had a chance to say anything. The moment he took a step forward, Hermione pulled back her hand and slapped Ron hard across his face. He staggered backwards, eyes wide with amazement, and his hand automatically came up to his cheek. It was red and already beginning to show the first slight signs of bruising. Harry quickly got to his feet in order to evade another strike, at either Ron or Hermione.

Stinging jabs of pain bit into her hand, but she ignored them. In an eerily steady voice she said: "Get out. I never want to see you again."

"No, Hermione. I'm sorry. Please." The color drained from his face with the exception of the hand mark from Hermione.

"Get out!" she shrieked. Ron winced. Hart stared at Hermione; at her smoldering anger and tear brimmed eyes, his heart beating wildly against his ribs.

Ron looked ready to either burst into tears or throw up, or perhaps both. He remained silent, and looked at Harry helplessly. Harry didn't know what to do or say; he simply stood there.

A somber silence chewed on the air as they all stood motionless. Ron slowly took his hand from his face and cast a final look at Hermione, who glared icily back. He walked to the door, picking his jacket up off the armchair, and opened it slowly. He stood in the doorway for moment, as if waiting for Hermione to call him back. When no response came, he walked out of the room and shut the door with a soft creak.

The moment the door closed behind Ron, Hermione broke and burst into tears. She covered her face and cried; her shoulders and chest shuddering as she sobbed. Harry snapped out of his trance and walked over to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He roughly jerked her body away and turned to him; eyes red and puffy, tears pouring down her cheeks, slipping off her chin.

"D-did you hear h-him?" she cried, her voice jumping. "How c-could he say something l-like that? He just as w-well as called me a m-mudblood! How dare he! I hate him! I wish he were DEAD!" Her voice broke, and she covered her face and wept.

Harry took both her arms and gently pried them from her face. When she struggled to get loose, he gripped tighter. "Hermione." She struggled to free herself again; he kept his hold on her wrists, pulling her in closer to him. When she continued to squirm, he said: "Hermione, stop it and listen to me!" She stopped, glaring up at Harry with puffy eyes, tears still leaking from them.

"What?" she said, sniffling.

"You don't hate Ron. And you don't wish he were dead. You-"

"Yes I do!" she screamed. "Harry James Potter, don't you dare tell me what I'm thinking!" Tears streamed down her cheeks again, and she wrenched her arms from her grip and tried to push Harry away from her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into him, trapping her delicate arms between them both. She choked on a sob and looked up at Harry, hiccupping. She looked so sad and unhappy that he wanted to cry himself.

"Listen to me. Ron didn't mean what he said. Trust me; I know Ron better than anyone. He doesn't say those things. He's just stressed out, that's all." He gently rubbed her back with one hand and caressed her soft hair with the other. "You just need some time to cool down; the both of you. Then you can sit down and talk this out, alright?" Harry rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the faint flowery aroma of her hair.

"No," she said forcefully, and then her voice weakened with exhaustion. "I'm not talking to Ron. I never want to see him again." She buried her face in his chest. "I don't want to hate him, Harry. But I can't forgive him not after what he said."

Harry let her go and draped his arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the bed. He sat down and she sat next to him, curling legs underneath her and resting her head on his shoulder. She'd stopped crying, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.

"I know you don't want to hate Ron, and you don't hate him. You're just very upset. Deep down, you know he didn't mean it. We all just need to calm down." He wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

They sat on the bed, simply taking comfort in each other's presence. When Hermione finally stopped shaking, Harry gently let go of her and look out the window. The sky had turned from dark pink to a deep blue, sparkling diamonds dotting the sky here and there. He took out his pocket watch, and was surprised when he saw it read almost nine o'clock.

"I've got to get home and talk to Ron. See how he's doing. I didn't realize how late it was." He moved to get up, but Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"No, don't leave," she said, pleading with her eyes. "Will you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?"

Harry looked at her and found himself unable to say no to her large, brown, desperate eyes. He struggled for a moment longer, but to no avail.

"Okay, fine." Hermione smiled at him. "But only till you fall asleep. Then I'm going back home." She sobered her face and nodded, but with a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "I'm going to send a letter to the Weasley's when Hedwig shows up; telling them not to worry and not to wait up, okay?"

"Of course."

"Just in case I do fall asleep – which I probably won't- I'm going to leave a letter for her to pick up, so no one will worry."

"Okay, then I'm going to change while you do that."

"Into what?"

"Well, as I'm going to be sleeping, I thought pajamas were a good choice."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Hermione stood up and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Harry stood and looked around the room for a quill and a piece of parchment. He sat down in the chair at the desk and started pulling open the drawers.

He found a piece in the bottom drawer, and as he pulled it out, the corner of a photograph stacked beneath a pile of papers caught his eye. He tenderly picked it up.

It was from the winter of their final year, taken by Colin Creevy; Harry's shadow for the past six years at Hogwarts.

It was of Hermione and himself (Ron was in detention for falling asleep during Transfiguration) under the tree they spent so many warm afternoons under. Snow swirled gently around them, and Harry could see a few flakes sticking in her hair and eyelashes. Silently they laughed, throwing piles of snow at each other.

Harry gazed at the picture; the pink in Hermione's cheeks from the cold; the twinkle in her eye accented by the reflection of snow. Again, he felt the warm, fluttery glow in his chest.

The bathroom knob turned, and Harry quickly dropped the picture in the drawer and closed it with his foot, simultaneously picking up the quill and dipping it in the ink.

When Hermione came out of the bathroom, Harry was writing his letter, hoping she wouldn't realize he went looking through her stuff. He addressed the envelope and put it on the window sill.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed in a set of blue striped pajamas. Harry walked to the bed and sat down next to her.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

"I will be."

He lied down on the bed, and Hermione curled up next to her, resting her head in the nook between his shoulder and neck.

Feeling her heartbeat lightly on her chest, listening to the soothing sound of her breathing, absent mindedly playing with her hair, Harry found himself more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

His eyelids grew heavy, and they fluttered shut. Harry drifted off to sleep just before Hedwig flew into the room and picked up the letter.